Shokugeki to Soma
by mixster
Summary: This is my reinterpretation of the story with Sōma and Megumi having their skill and past switched around a bit: a partnership between the highly skilled transfer student Megumi and the fumbling genius Sōma who's on the verge expulsion.


Sōma couldn't really remember when he first held a knife. Sometimes, though, he'd get a glimpse of a memory. Long, slender fingers, soft and warm and reassuring, would guide his tiny hands, finely chopping onions. He didn't know if the memory was real, but sometimes he'd carefully dice onions, hoping the smell brought back more than a glimpse.

Thinking about that had become a kind of tradition for him. He'd used it at the entrance ceremony in his first year at Tōtsuki, middle school section. He wanted to remember the important memory that had pushed him.

The high school entrance ceremony wasn't supposed to be any different, and so with his thoughts adrift, he missed the girl walking across the stage all by herself. He missed when she stumbled over her own feet, and only stopped missing things when she said, "I aim to be the best chef in the world."

Silence followed that. While taking its toll on the girl, she probably would have preferred that to the laughter Sōma expected to burst out at any moment. It took a lot of guts, ignorance or stupidity to stand in front of Tōtsuki and say that. Probably a lot of all three.

It's not about ego, he thought. Half the school wanted to become chefs famous for their skill, and perhaps one in a hundred of them would actually achieve that. Every single one of them held that same goal as her.

The difference is none of them got up in front of the whole school to say it.

As she bowed and walked back off the stage – almost tripping down the steps – he could already see the target on her back; no expense spared flashing neon and air horns too. Amidst her exit, whispered gossiping sprang up, and he picked out her name. "Megumi, huh?" he muttered, smiling. "Interesting."

After so long at Tōtsuki, he forgot if other schools started lessons on the same day. He wanted to say they didn't, because there'd be time for the students to meet their homeroom teacher and get to wander around and check where the science and home economics rooms were.

But, Tōtsuki didn't wait. Still, he wished the new school year could have opened with someone a little nicer than Chapelle.

At least, it promised to be interesting.

Megumi looked a lot smaller in the classroom, and he wondered how much of that was down to the glares thrown her way. She'd not found a partner, not that she was looking for one, nose glued to the table as she inspected the various kitchen implements.

"Ah, Megumi, let's be partners," Sōma said, giving her a friendly slap on the back.

She jumped. Not very high, but he was certain her feet left the ground. The trembling almost made him feel bad as she looked up at him. He stuck out a hand. For a moment, she just stared down at it, as though worried it was going to bite. Then, she shook it.

"Wh-why are you smiling?" she asked.

"You have a good handshake for a chef."

She lowered her eyes for a moment, taking a breath. "And h-how do you know my name?"

"I'd say everyone knows it," he said. "At least, all the first years. You called us out, of course we're gonna remember you."

She managed to go from tomato to radish in an unhealthily quick time. "I- I didn't!" she said, and then, "Did I?" and then, much quieter, "What have I done?" with her hands covering her face.

He slapped her back again. "Relax, you'll be fine."

"Really?" she asked from between her fingers.

"Really."

She breathed out, lowering her hands. "Um, I guess you know my name, but I'm Megumi Tadokoro. Nice to meet you."

"Sōma Yukihira, nice to meet you too."

She smiled. Soft and cute.

The bell rang and Chapelle set them to work on a beef bourguignon. She looked happy, he thought, with a knife in her hand. It showed in her attention, her patience. Cutting onions was boring work, so everyone said, and there she was, still smiling.

It filled him with some kind of nostalgic happiness. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cooked alongside a smiling chef. His father didn't count, that man had something you couldn't call a smile. No one at Tōtsuki smiled when cooking, it took up effort they'd rather spend sharpening their knives.

Things went well. She took care of the stuff that needed skill and he got off with the easy stuff. It was going too well. He shouldn't have forgotten what happens when things go too well. Leaving the stove to check on what seasoning the high school section offered, he returned to find the lid ajar.

The snickering behind him told him enough, but he asked anyway. "Megumi, did you check on the beef and forget to put the lid back on?"

"Eh? No," she said, turning away from her work. Drawn to the pot, she looked on with dawning horror as he removed the lid. "Wh- what?"

"Salt," he said. A lot of thoughts went through his head. And, a lot of feelings. Anger was something he thought he'd left behind. "Hey, Megumi, I'm going to ask you a very important question, okay? So answer it properly."

"Okay," she said, and it was barely a whisper, her eyes still glued to the pile of salt sticking out like an iceberg.

He waited, though, for her to look at him, and she did. She looked so damn defeated. "Do you want to become a great chef, or do you want to become the best chef in the world?"

It felt like an eternity as the question ground its way into her head, weathering away anything in its path. The words built up on her lips, bubbling until they boiled over. "I want to be the best chef in the world."

He nodded. "Shout it."

"What?" she said, eyes widening.

"Shout so loud even the Gods of Cooking will hear you."

He didn't think she'd do it. Only an idiot would trust someone they met an hour ago. It went against her character, it went against what a sensible person would do. Then, he remembered she hadn't come across as a sensible person.

"I WANT TO BE THE BEST CHEF IN THE WORLD!"

The silence managed to engulf even the ambient cooking sounds.

He smiled, and slapped her on the back so hard she nearly fell onto the counter top. "We're starting again. I'll fetch the ingredients, you start preparing them."

"Y-you're kidding," she said, spinning around to the check the clock. "We don't have enough time."

"Trust me."

She did. He didn't care to wonder why, but she listened to him. Amidst the gossiping and laughing and insults of their classmates, they cooked. Right up to the last second they cooked, and then they presented their dish to Chapelle.

Everyone looked on with anticipation. Megumi couldn't keep from performing a calming exercise, drawing a little stick figure person on her hand and pretending to eat it. Sōma just stood there though, looking on with a neutral expression, and hoping no one else could hear his heart beating against his chest.

Chapelle's knife slid through the meat with ease, much to his surprise. "I see. You used honey to help break down the beef, allowing for a shorter cooking time," he muttered. Slowly, he brought a piece to his mouth. The crowd held its breath. He lowered the fork. "A."

Megumi lowered her head, but Sōma still spotted the smile. "Thank you sir," he said, bowing his head. Then, before the class snapped out of it, he tapped her shoulder and whispered, "Let's go."

She followed him out into the hallway, and then onto the path from the building, and she didn't say anything. Neither did he, but he was lost in thought about the possibilities of honeyed meats.

It was only when they got to the main path for the campus that she stopped him. She looked overwhelmed and he didn't blame her. But, she was still smiling, and it looked so out of place that he began laughing, and when she asked him why he was laughing he only laughed harder. Then, she laughed too.

After everything that had happened to her, she had to also end up crying. Desperately trying to wipe them away and dry her eyes, she kept smiling. Eventually, they settled down, sitting beneath a tree on the fresh spring grass.

And she asked, "Why did you ask me that question?"

"Well, this place is divided into two groups. There's the people who want to be great chefs, and there's the people who want to be the best chef in the world."

After a while, she asked, "Which group are you in?"

"Ah, it's a little embarrassing," he said, scratching his chin. "I'm in a third group: chef's with no talent hanging on by a thread."

"What?" she said, turning to stare at him.

He chuckled. "If I fail any class this semester, I'll be automatically expelled. Sorry I forgot to mention, but I'm useless in the kitchen, so I hope you don't mind doing all the hard work."

"But, but," she started saying, only to trail off as she thought.

"I guess I should apologise for the salt too. I'm not too popular around here, so everyone wants to be the one to get me expelled."

"That's so unfair! Why don't the teachers stop it?"

Rubbing the back of his head, he replied, "Eh, they don't really care. As long as there's no poisoning, they take a little competitive sabotage into account for grading. Besides, there's still written tests and research papers and things like that. Not that I'm any good at that either, but it's easy points if you work hard."

"That's," she began, her vigour dying out all too quickly though.

"That's Tōtsuki," Sōma said. He felt like that would be the answer to a lot of her questions.

The wind whistled through the trees and the clouds clunked across the sky and time trickled by.

"What would have happened if I'd said I wanted to be a great chef?" she asked.

He scratched his chin again, leading with a drawn out, "Well," before going on to say, "I guess I would have spooned out as much of the salt as I could. Cutting off the top of the beef is a shame, but even just a thin slice would remove most of the spoiled meat. I don't know how much went into the sauce, but I'd top it up to dilute the salt and then pour some out to get the right amount again."

"I see," she whispered.

"It wouldn't be worth an A, but getting C's and B's is good enough to graduate."

She didn't add anything to that.

There was a lot more to Tōtsuki than that, but she was starting to look exhausted. So, he left it at that. "Hey Megumi, which dorm are you in?"

"Ah," she said, brightening up. She pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. "Polar Star."

He didn't think his day could get any better. "Good news, I can take you there if you want. It's on the way home for me."

The walk took a long time, taking them uphill on a winding road amongst trees, a car ambling by now and then. She barely kept her eyes forward, always looking at plants growing through the thick forest floor or up at the various fruits along their own ripeness lifetimes. It amused him and reinforced who he thought she was, as did the conversation.

She'd come from a fishing village that had started to expand into hospitality and tourism around the time she was born. Picking herbs, helping with pickling and curing, doing all sorts of odd jobs as a young child. Then, as the town really picked up, helping her mum in the kitchens for their hot spring inn.

It sounded nice, he thought. Really nice.

And she'd asked about this and that to do with the school, and he'd told her about that and this. Light hearted stuff. The sort of stuff that doesn't get in the way of a good mood. She'd been enthralled by the Shokugeki – the ultimate competition between chefs. She'd been awed at the Elite Ten's power over the school. She'd fallen for the Tōtsuki dream.

Then, they were rambling down the footpath to the Polar Star dormitory and her chatting stopped. It was hard to say if the building had seen better days, because there was a certain appeal to the aged look it had. Vines clambered over the brickwork, thick veins that cast damp-like shadows. Just that did enough to make it look dilapidated.

"Um," she said, glancing between the building, the sign, and him. "I, er, thank you for showing me the way." She bowed.

"No problem," he said, and then pushed open the gates and walked in. "Let's have a look around."

She stared after him for a moment, then went to say something, but ended up jogging to catch up to him. Rather than head up to the front door, he followed a dirt path around the side. The confused look on her face dropped off though, awe shining through as they rounded on the garden out back.

"Wow," she whispered, kneeling down to inspect some of the vegetables. "These are really good." She turned and, seeing him putting a tomato into a basket, asked, "Are- are we allowed to just pick them?"

"It'll be fine, don't worry," he said. "Gotta get a few things for dinner." Pointing to a pile of baskets, he said, "Get some for yourself."

She stared down the basket, and reached out with a shaking hand.

"It won't bite," he said and she let out a squeak of fright. "And take your time. Look at everything and think about what sort of meal you want to eat, then pick what you think will make it the most delicious."

She nodded, and grabbed the basket. He chuckled to himself, amused by her serious expression. They wandered around the plants and stopped by the chicken coops and he showed her the various wild herbs growing.

"Well then, let's introduce you to the Polar Star dorm," he said, leading her to the back door.

"Um, should we really be going in that way? Shouldn't we go in through the front door? I don't even have a key."

He waved her off. "Don't worry, it's fine." Pulling the door open, he shouted, "New girl's here!"

She froze with her eyes darting back and forth between her basket and the darkness lying beyond the door.

"Well? Everyone's waiting," he said.

Bowing her head, she took a deep breath, and then looked straight ahead. She took one step inside- and tripped. "Th- thank you," she whispered, regaining her balance. He let go of her shoulders. She walked into the room, shading her eyes when the fluorescent lights flickered on.

There they all stood; five students, an elderly lady, and some weird guy wearing nothing but an apron. She stared at him, eyes wide.

"Ah, that's Isshiki. You get used to it," Sōma said. "Well, good luck."

"Aren't you going to watch?" Isshiki asked.

Sōma waved him off. "Nah. Didn't you hear? She's going to be the best chef in the world. Something like this isn't going to stop her." Pausing in the doorway, he looked at her and asked, "Isn't that right, Megumi?"

She blinked a couple of times, and then smiled. "Yes!"

* * *

A couple of days later, Sōma and Megumi stood outside the Don Research Society room. She looked determined as she knocked on the door. He rolled his eyes and opened it.

"Yo, is the boss in?" he asked. The room had only one person in it, and various papers and hand-made books were scattered across the floor. "Eh? What happened here."

"They left," he said, staring out the window. "Nakiri's closing us down."

Sōma picked up a couple of the books and flicked through them. "You've got some nice things here," he said. "Must have taken years to get all this done."

"You sound like a good kid. Was there something you wanted? I'm Kanichi Konishi by the way."

After introducing himself and Megumi, Sōma said, "There is something, actually."

"What is it?"

Sōma smiled, baring his teeth. "Let me challenge Nakiri to keep this club open."

"What? Really?" Kanichi said, turning and looking at Sōma with wide eyes and tears forming. "You'd do that for your love of Don?"

"Eh, not really. But, it would be wrong to throw all this away."

"You do love Don," Kanichi said, wiping his eyes.

Megumi tugged Sōma's sleeve, whispering to him, "Is Nakiri really good? Can you win?"

"Erina Nakiri's the tenth seat. She'd beat me if she made buttered toast." He turned back to Kanichi. "You got a Shokugeki organised already or should I go track her down?"

Kanichi sniffled. "There's one in two days. I wasn't going to turn up, but if it's you I know you can do it."

"He doesn't know who you are, does he?" Megumi whispered.

"It's not against Nakiri though. She sent Ikumi Mito."

Silence followed, Sōma falling into thought and Kanichi returning to the window. Megumi looked between them for a bit, and then asked, "Is that… good?"

"Mito's a very talented chef," Sōma said while still thinking. He went on to tell Megumi about her cooking and place at the head of the meat industry in Japan. After that, nothing more was said until Sōma decided to head back to the dorms. "We'll see you at the Shokugeki," he said on the way out.

"Good luck," Kanichi replied.

Even on the way back, Sōma looked pensive. Megumi wanted to say something, and it took most of the trip before she finally asked, "Sōma?"

"Hm, yeah?"

"If you're gonna lose… shouldn't I face her? I don't know if I'm good enough, but I'll try my best."

He hummed, taking his time before answering. "Erina is a bit like a sister to me. So, this is something I need to do myself."

"Erina," Megumi mumbled. "Oh."

"If I lose, you can always challenge Mito yourself. It's just, right now, you don't have anything to wager."

She sighed, lowering her head. "No, I don't."

He patted her on the back. "Cheer up, I said 'right now' didn't I?" She smiled. "There we go. You look much cuter when you're smiling," he said, stretching up to the sky and missing her blush.

* * *

A lot of people turned up. He'd kinda expected that, either to see Ikumi's skill or to see him fail. But even then, the place was packed. Megumi could barely keep from trembling beside him; second-hand nerves seemed super-effective against her. Only Yūki and Ryōko turned up from the dorms, and he was pretty sure only because Megumi begged them.

"Where's that Yakuza wannabe?"

"I'm here in his place. Sōma Yukihira," he said, offering a hand.

She didn't take it. "Ikumi Mito." After a few seconds, she said, "Wait, are you kidding me? I'm facing a piece of trash like you?"

"Yes," he said, smiling. "I even want to ask if you want to make a second wager."

Ikumi tapped her heavy boot. "Well, what is it?"

"If I win, then you have to stop being Nakiri's lackey. If you win, I quit the school."

She didn't so much smile as bare her canines. "Interesting."

"How about it?" he said, taking a step forward. "She'd be very happy if you finally got rid of this stain on the school's honour."

"You're on."

Sōma grinned. "Good luck."

She didn't respond in kind, spinning around and marching to her prep area. When he did the same, he almost knocked over Megumi, who had gone from shaking to frozen still. "Is- is- is-" she said, stuck on repeat until he flicked her forehead.

"Don't worry about me."

"But if you lose you'll be expelled!" she said. "How can you risk that when you don't even think you'll win?"

He didn't look at her, focusing on wiping down his counter. "I already told you I'm on the verge of failing, didn't I? It doesn't matter if I leave. I don't need to graduate or make friends or anything like that."

Little more than a whisper, he said, "I'm just here to be less of a disappointment to my dad." She couldn't be sure she heard it, with the roar of the crowd and clanging of equipment, and she didn't have time to ask before she was being ushered off the stage.

From then on, all she could do was watch from the side as Ikumi pulled out her ludicrously delicious meat and cooked it to perfection, while Sōma muddled through with his value steak. She could see him fumble the knife as he tried to chop the onions, and could smell the slight burning of butter as he didn't quite turn the heat down in time. She heard the judges gush about Ikumi's dish, and criticise the mechanical mistakes of Sōma's. She saw the score flash up, three-zero in Ikumi's favour, and felt the crowd's cheers rumble through her like a heavy bass.

Then, she saw Sōma hand Ikumi a dish. He'd told her about this part, a kind of closing ceremony. The chef's exchanged dishes to show goodwill and the loser admitted their defeat while the winner confirmed their victory.

People were already leaving, and Megumi felt the need to go on stage to comfort him. She'd made it to his side before she realised that something was wrong.

"Why is she crying?" Megumi asked.

Sōma finished the food in his mouth before saying, "My food is speaking to her."

There was something… compelling about watching Ikumi cry, Megumi thought. She'd never seen someone moved to tears over cooking before, if she ignored from spiciness. With every mouthful, emotions flooded her face. Everyone had noticed, from the judges to the rooted crowd.

"What is it saying?" she whispered.

"The beef is asking, 'Am I good enough? I'm trying my hardest to be good meat. I even asked my best friend rice to help me, and my other friends too. We're all trying really hard to be tasty. Did we do it? Even if we're not very good, did we make something tasty? Are you happy with us?'"

Sōma chuckled, scratching the back of his head.

"Or something like that." He carefully tidied up a few things on his counter and took off his headband and apron. "Come on Megumi, I should go pack."

"W- wait," Ikumi said.

"Gonna rub it in, are you?" he asked, not turning around.

Ikumi muttered something with her head lowered.

"What's that? I didn't hear you."

She took a deep breath. "I lost."

Megumi gasped, filled with sudden joy. He said, "Thank you for the meal; it was really good."

"Yours too," she said.

There wasn't anyone waiting outside the back of the hall. Sōma stopped for a moment, looking up at the sky and taking a deep breath. "Man, that was scary," he said, stretching his arms behind his head.

Megumi's happiness had faded, though. "Sōma… did you mean what you said earlier?"

"Huh," he said, looking back at her. "What did I say?"

Her hands clenched. "That it doesn't matter if you're expelled."

He looked away. "Yeah, I did."

She wanted to slap him. It had been so long since she felt so angry, she thought she'd grown up. But, in that moment, it threatened to overwhelm her. Her breathing shook from the effort to keep herself calm. As she whispered, her voice shook too.

"It matters to me."

He jerked around.

"It matters to me you idiot!" she screamed.

His eyes softened, and a smile grew. "Ah, I'm sorry," he said. He hadn't thought he still could feel shame. Lowering his head, he said, "I'm really sorry Megumi."

For a while, there was nothing but the sound of her breathing and the distant, dispersing crowd.

"Let's go home," he said. "I'll make you an omelette, Western style. It's my best dish you know."


End file.
